undergrounds | would you promise to be true [OPEN]

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would you promise to be true [OPEN]

HILLINGDON HOUSE

Between Cooper's beating, the ice queen's freezing, and the stupid cat's assaults, Ringer's spent far more time trying to recover than actually able to fight. She isn't meaning to show off, but the bruise on her shoulder extends down below the edge of her sleeve onto her arm and the scratches on her other arm are plain as day. The rest, at least, are hidden beneath her jeans and a t-shirt ensemble. She wants to make more allies. More so, she wants those hunters that are part of Hillingdon to start working together beyond chasing the same bounty.

She doesn't have much of a plan in mind, but she'll order a beer and casually wander, trying to find any new faces or those she's spoken to before. She has to start somewhere, after all. "Hey. Mind if I join you?"

LATE NIGHT FRIGHT IN WEREWOLF TOWN

Just in case Ringer wasn't vigilant about carrying her weapon loaded with silver bullets before, she definitely is now thanks to the stupid fae cat who stalks her from time to time. Luckily, it doesn't seem to be making an appearance tonight as she makes her way around the Newham area. For all her supernatural explorations and learning, Ringer continues to know almost nothing about werewolves and what better place to find one than wandering around their territory at night with silver on hand. She just hopes they can't sense or smell it. If they do, well, at least she's learned something.

The hunter doesn't have a particular direction, avoiding most of the pubs where drunken idiots will be common to look instead to stroll through what parks she can find. Ringer pulls up short when she hears steps nearby, wondering when it was that she became so paranoid of every sound. It's more likely to be humans than werewolves or some other supernatural creature. Still, she tenses, watching and waiting for the source of the sound to emerge.

TEA AT A CAFE

Like any self-respecting teenager, particularly of the British variety, Ringer finds herself desperately in need of caffeine. It's a specific cafe that she wanders into for tea and a sandwich. She made a promise to a friendly stranger some time ago, the odd words of the fox fae from the other week reminding her of as much, and has no intentions of failing to visit. She actually feels bad that it took her so long.

Whatever the reasoning, she takes a seat with her tea and waits for her order to arrive. In the meantime, the girl pulls a copy of The Road from her pack and begins casually rereading to kill the time until her lunch arrives.

[Or feel free to make your own!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[PLACE HOLDER.]

As soon as Ringer sent him her address, Faolan doesn't even question it. He's tucking his phone away in his jacket pocket and packing himself up to head on over. It's not as though it's too far, but then again. Nothing is too far, even in a city as this one. Then again, that's coming from a man who spends most of his days traveling around in it.

As such, it doesn't take him too long to get there, and when he does, he's at a loss for a few moments as to what exactly he's planning on doing. Still, she's younger than him, more stubborn than him, and if she really is as bad off as she sounds, she probably hasn't asked anyone for any help either. Hillingdon barely has any structure at the best of times, but that's hardly going to stop him from checking in and making sure that she isn't going to bleed out or put herself into a coma or god knows what else because he assumed she'd be fine when she wasn't. As he rings the bell, he only wishes that he'd thought to bring something useful with him, although he supposes his kit could be considered as such. He's got some first aid equipment in there, as well as the weaponry to accompany it. Never know what you might need out there, after all.

"I'm not going to go away if you ignore me," he calls out, after waiting at the door for a few long moments.

Ringer is a careful person. She's expecting takeout, but checks out the door's peephole before opening it only to find Faolan instead of Thai. She freezes like a deer in the headlights for a second, then looks down at her pajamas, then to her slightly messy flat that's not at all ready to receive supernatural-type company, which includes hunters. It's one of the few times she's caught so completely off guard that she doesn't even move or react until he speaks again. After another short pause, to debate the merits of inviting him in versus letting him stand stubbornly in the hall, she finally winces with the realization that she can't simply ignore him.

Her muscles tense with sudden anxiety as she opens the door a small crack. The girl's dressed in simple light gray pajama pants and a worn t-shirt with the Nighthawks painting printed on it and small bits of paint splattered here and there. It looks to be a couple sizes too large. There are large scabbed over scratches on her left forearm and right shoulder with deep bruising on her shoulder as well. The bruises on her legs and stomach are hidden, as are the scratches on her back.

"Why are you here right now?" If looks could kill.

Fortunately for her (or perhaps unfortunately, as the case may be) Faolan is hardly affected by said looks, leaning into the crack of the door as she opens it. He takes in the way that she's dressed, the way that she's holding herself. The way that she's obviously injured, and the way that he knows that whatever injuries he can see are hardly the only ones she's got.

Why is he here now? That's a good question, and one that Faolan's not entirely certain of himself. But he'll roll with the punches and go with the flow of the situation as best he can. He always has -- it's what he's good at, after all. "Because you're stubborn as hell," he responds. "And because you're sure as hell not fine for that matter. What happened?"

Ringer stares at him with the same expression, equal parts furious and horrified, wondering if maybe he might go away if she slams the door in his face. It seems highly unlikely. After an awkwardly long silence without moving at all, she finally opens the door wider and steps behind it to allow him room to enter. Once he's inside, she'll close and lock it behind him.

Her flat is unusually large for someone of her age with no sign of other residents. It has some decor and personal touches, but not many and no photos of Ringer with anyone. It's extremely tidy, with only a couple dishes in the sink and a couple books on tables. The only signs of mess are the growing pile of mail on one table and the bundle of bloody clothes on the floor of her bathroom. She walks over and closes the door, doing a quick visual sweep to see if there's anything else she needs to hide.

After a beat, she moves to grab her two mobiles - one smart phone and one basic flip phone - and shove them in a drawer. Then she finally returns to face him, now simply frowning and appearing more exhausted than angry. "I attacked a fae door. I lost to a frigid bitch and her cat creature. I had to shoot the thing to survive and the police are looking for me. Now I'm going to get your bolts and you're going to leave."

As high as Ringer's walls are and as much as she likes to push people away, there's a part of her that still longs for connection. With her family dead and never having had much in the way of friends, it's something she's secretly wanted for as long as she can remember but which she has no way of knowing how to obtain. It's why she invites him in and tells him to go away in the same span, her mind arguing with itself about what's best.

Faolan raises an eyebrow at her as she speaks. Attacking a door. He's been doing research on the fae ever since he'd met Heiji. Not that he hadn't known anything about them, but he'd been more ignorant than he should have been. They hadn't concerned him. They concern him now. Especially this concept of doors. Although if there's one thing for certain, the doors are their domain, their territory, and the fae will always have the upper hand if you're trying to butt your way into their business. He supposes that this is just Ringer's way of learning such things the hard way.

"Cat creature," Faolan echoes. "What kind of cat creature?" He watches her move about the room and hide things that she doesn't seem to want him to see, although it's with an easy, nonchalant glance at her mail that he learns what must be her name. 'Marika', huh? Well, now he knows. He takes a step towards her, covering up the fact that he should have caught such a glimpse in the first place. "And why would the police be after you? That sort of affair is rather outside of their jurisdiction." All questions, Faolan is. He'll get to the concern in a moment. For he is -- concerned. She's not the only one without much in the way of connections after all, everyone's got their way of handling these things.

"The kind with claws," she replies dryly as she moves around the corner into her bedroom. If Faolan follows, he might see the first aid kit and some bloody bandages sprawled on her bed. She was in the middle of trying to clean her wounds when he came knocking at her door. Ringer moves past her bed into her closet though, volume rising accordingly as she continues talking while retrieving the bolts. "The police heard the gunshots. Carrying a firearm is illegal."

She pulls the shoebox from a shelf on her closet and returns to the bed, glancing over to either Faolan or the empty doorway, depending on if he follows her, before returning her gaze to the contents of the box. There are a varied size of bolts within and Ringer begins pulling the largest, which fit the crossbow she gave to him.

Faolan raises an eyebrow wryly in response to the comment about the claws, as if to say, 'No, really?' And yes, he does follow her as she walks, because she hasn't told him not to, although to be honest, it's entirely possible that he shouldn't have listened to such an instruction anyway.

He doesn't miss the bandages. It's hard not to, considering it's a scene that he recognizes as familiar to himself and to his own bad habits. He watches her digging through her closet and when she turns back to him with the box of the bolts, he's honestly not surprised that she figures that's what he's there for. He takes it from her, though he shakes his head. "Thanks. Although is it really so difficult to believe that I was really coming by to check up on you?"

Heiji was no longer working at the cafe, but he'd asked the waiters there to text him if someone meeting Ringer's description showed up... and lo and behind, she had. He pulled up to a small parking space in front of the cafe with his motorcycle, stowed his helmet, and walked in.

It didn't take him long to spot the girl in question and slide into the seat across from her. "Hey. I was wonderin' when you were gonna show up."

Ringer was a little disappointed when she hadn't seen Heiji working and had already decided she would visit again at some point to try to catch up with the brief acquaintance. Then suddenly he was sitting in front of her. Brow furrowing, she closed her book and set it aside, looking around the room and then to him. Sounding more matter-of-fact than perturbed, she replied, "Either this is one hell of a coincidence or you're stalking me."

The hunter didn't much believe in that kind of coincidence anymore. While she had dismissed the fox's words as her own over thinking, she very suddenly wondered if there wasn't more to this guy. Perhaps he and the fox were in league together and Heiji was playing messenger for the fae. She did want to thank the fox for saving her life. Maybe he could relay the message. If this was more than serendipity.

RUDE. SUPER RUDE.

"Hey," said Heiji, making a face. "D'you have a speed between 0 and 60? I asked Leslie and the others to text me if someone lookin' like you walked in."

It was probably best that Ringer never knew exactly how Heiji had described her to the other waiters. It involved making an intense frowny face.

"Sorry," she replied immediately, though it sounded more automatic than sincere. Following her hunch, Ringer let out a small sigh. "I think you understand why I might be a little paranoid."

It was a subtle way of asking if he knew what happened that night with the fox, cat, and frigid witch. If she was being honest, the idea of this friendly and fun guy being involved with all the supernatural stuff surprised her. He didn't exactly seem all that tough or intimidating. Like at all.

"I bet," said Heiji, settling back in his seat. "Y'know, I was starting to think you forgot all about this joint. Wouldn't be the first time."

Actually, it would be the second time someone had promised to come by and it slipped their mind. People these days. No dedication or whatever.

"So, how you doin'? You don't look like you're down with cat scratch fever, at least." He wasn't sure if Grimalkin could carry Bartonella, but he supposed it was possible.

"I didn't forget. It took me awhile to find it." More time than it should have, admittedly, but Ringer hadn't forgotten her promise even before the fox's words. Their encounter had only served as a reminder. Promises were a currency that people spent far too frequently these days for her taste, while she cherished and held to every one she gave. Even if life interfered for some time.

It took her a second to really understand what Heiji meant and she unconsciously straightened with the confirmation, a little more tense without understanding why. She deliberately reached forward to pick up her tea and take a sip, giving her time to calm down and to think. "Recovering. It attacked me again two days ago."

She cupped her hands around the warm drink with the memory of how cold she had been. "You know the fox?"

"That's a switch, at least." Heiji had been starting to wonder if he was forgettable or something -- one of those faces that just sort of blended into the crowd. That could be good or bard.

He let out a long sigh. It was not quite a Napoleon Dynamite sigh, but close. "Yeah, I guess I do. Not to rub salt in your wounds, or anything, but why were you even messin' around with the fae?"

Ringer took another sip of her tea before setting it aside. It was clear from her sudden shifting - leaning forward, tucking her hair behind her ears, voice dropping in volume - that the question made her anxious, both in excited and fearful ways. She wanted to ask how he was involved before she told him anything, but he seemed alright and the risk of alienating another potential ally outweighed the risk of revealing too much to someone who might very well be another shapeshifter or super human.

"I've seen what the fae do when upset. They have no regard for human life. I was trying to stop them from making more doors into this world." She pursed her lips a moment and glanced down to the table before looking at him again. "An ice fae and her cat almost killed me. The fox saved me. I assume he told you that. You can tell him I said thank you. I don't owe him anything. But I recognize what he did."

Ringer crossed her arms loosely on the table's edge. "Are you human?"

"That's not true!" said Heiji vehemently, in response to the words they have no regard for human life, palms on the table and almost ready to rise out of his seat when he realized that he was drawing attention to himself from the one or two other customers sitting in the cafe.

"That's not true," he said, lowering his voice as he sank back down into his chair. The rest of what she said registered on some minor level. Thank you -- but I don't owe you -- but I recognize your contribution to the events of one week ago. He'd have preferred no thanks at all to any so ungracious.

"You don't know what you're talking about. You can't stop the fae from making doors to Faery by getting rid of one doorframe. And an amateur using explosives anywhere in London is insane. That's nuts. People live here."

Ringer stiffened at the outburst, waiting both until he had calmed down and the others in the cafe had gone back to their own business before she even considered speaking again. She shook her head at his repetition, his acting like simply speaking the words made it true. After it all, she took a deep breath.

"I did my research. No human was in the vicinity. I was using controlled charges to burst inward, not outward, for minimal damage. Are you human?" She repeated the question, wondering if he'd gotten caught up in the moment or had deliberately chosen not to answer. Paranoia struck again as the pieces began to click together, how defensive he'd gotten and why he might know the fox. Her frown deepened. "Or fae?"

Ringer was more than willing to elaborate on what she'd seen and why she had no trust in fae as a general guiding principle and she definitely had need for more information about what fae were and how they operated. But she wanted to know who he was first.

"No," he said simply. Not that it was any of her business, and the question in and of itself was a little rude. He noted her words, the way she apparently only cared that no human was in the vicinity.

"And no, I don't think ya did." He started ticking off points with his fingers. "Even professionals make mistakes, and that's with controlled demolitions. One miscalculation, that's all it would've took. You couldn't have guaranteed that no one was gonna come along and complicate things -- which they did. Plus, handguns are illegal in Great Britain, 'cept for a few special cases. And regardless of whether you got permission from the Home Secretary, blowing up bits of the city is definitely illegal."

"Meanwhile, I'm still tryin' to figure out why you were facin' off with the fae. Because gunfire in town? Is bound to get the cops to come running. So I'm really hoping the plan wasn't slugging it out with Mr. Meow. Because if he was okay with offing one would-be bomber who actually knew something about the Underground, I doubt he'd have much trouble chewing up a couple of beat cops who'd have no idea what to expect." In fact, Ringer had been extremely lucky that neither Mab nor Grimalkin had seen fit to make a scene after Heiji had arrived. So had Heiji, actually.

He reached into his jacket, rooted around briefly, and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "That's not even getting into what might've happened if your charges did go off, 'cause when a bomb goes off in the city these days, it's 'Islamic terrorism' that everyone jumps to -- not 'fairies'. The cops are looking for you, by the way. Or more specifically, the 'unknown party responsible for the incident on July 9th'."

"Not all of us have had hundreds of years of experience," she replied coldly, tone as thin as aluminum foil. Ringer very purposefully ignored the news clipping he displayed, gaze never leaving Heiji's face. She was confident about the safety of the explosives - a very small, very controlled blast - and didn't care that he refused to believe in her skills. The idea of terrorism had occurred to her, but, truth be told, she'd been assuming the fae would take care of it somehow in order to cover for the existence of their door. Clearly she'd been mistaken about that. Lesson learned.

He was right about the shooting and she took a small breath as she continued, irritation clear, though it had more to do with the situation than with him specifically. "I had no intention to fire my gun. The other fae didn't leave me a lot of options and I chose the potential for jail as a lesser risk than dying. I fired it before the feline creature was involved. At the time, she would have been forced to be reported for what she is or to withdraw."

She swallowed and finally dropped her eyes, embarrassment subtle yet obvious to anyone paying attention. "I didn't realize the creature was there at the time. The fox saved me in a lot of ways. I know that. It could have been a lot worse."

Ringer looked up again, trying to suppress what emotion there was. For as much training as she had received, nothing prepared her for so many of these crazy situations. It was frustrating and she was effectively wandering around blind. But hey, at least she had her reasons. "I didn't come here for a lecture. Tell me how to disable a Faery door and I'll tell you about the Fae's disregard for human life."

It wasn't a trade she figured he would take, but it was worth a shot. If he said no, it would be easy to turn around and walk away. Maybe Heiji would have to confer with the fox before they decided they might kill her themselves. It was always impossible to know who could be trusted. Especially of those who lied about who they were.

I didn't come here for a lecture.

What a familiar refrain. He'd seen that look plenty of times before, the kind that said I don't care what you have to say; I'm right and my cause is just. Tell me what I want to know, and don't bother me with the details or advice. Because the next time I'll get it right. The next time, luck will be on my side.

The way she refused to look at the clipping, the way she refused to recognize that she could have gotten someone seriously hurt over nothing, the way everything bad or inconvenient had happened that night had simply been outside her control and thus certainly not her fault -- these all signaled to Heiji that she was not interested in taking responsibility for her actions.

"I'm not here to help you kill yourself. I'm sorry about what happened to you, but you're on a bad road and you need to get yourself off it before somethin' worse happens." He stood to leave.

"Later."

"Help me." There wasn't even a pause or moment of hesitation, the words out before he'd even stood to full height. Ringer's mouth pulled down into a deeper frown and she sighed. Heiji wasn't quite the pushover nice guy he'd seemed like during their first meeting. The girl hated being baited and that's exactly what it felt like he was doing right now, but he actually seemed to care about human life and that might be something important. She also realized that she would probably need to give a little more if she wanted to make more allies.

They used to call her 'Her Majesty Marika' at school, because they perceived her reservedness and isolation as elitism and pride. Ringer didn't do well with trusting people, including with smaller things like admitting her failures. It was clearly uncomfortable for her to even admit to needing help.

"I'm not good at this. I know that. I'm doing what I can because people have to. I was there for the genocide in Oxford that the fae caused. I don't want that to happen again." She stopped herself before admitting just how little she had to lose. "You can help to educate me and make me better or you can walk away, or anything in between. You have no obligation to me. But I want your help."

"I didn't account for a random passerby. A stupid and important mistake I won't repeat. I did do research. The explosives weren't enough to take out more than a chunk of the brick. The risk of being arrested or its failure was worth the potential of stopping the fae from taking over that area. I meant what I said about shooting the gun too. It was a calculated risk. I would have died if I hadn't used it. Carrying it is a calculated risk too. Like telling you this. Everything is risk. Knowing more would help me to reduce that risk."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, wondering for a second what it might be like to live a life that wasn't almost entirely calculated. It was why she carried two phones with two different names and took up kickboxing as an excuse for her bruises, as well as the obvious benefit of training. Ringer took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, finally looking away. "I know they're looking for me. I didn't know it was in the paper."

"Even if your plan had completely succeeded the way you wanted it to," said Heiji, "It wouldn't have worked, like I said. Because the fae ultimately don't care about one door.

"If, on the other hand, you tried ordering around those guys from earlier, refused to leave, insulted them? Some or all of those things might've set them off. Especially if you ran into exactly the wrong crowd to try that on, which it sounds like you did. They ain't here after you, either. They've got bigger fish to fry right now."

"What do the fae care about?" She could feel how tense her body had become as the stress crept in. Even now, Ringer was worried that Heiji would decide to leave on bad terms, gaining her yet another negative acquaintance. It would be nice to come out ahead for once. She wanted him to sit down again. Better yet, she wanted this conversation to happen anywhere but where they were.

"How do I get a hold of the fox? I need to talk to him directly." A beat. "No offense."

"That's like askin' what women want. Depends on the fae." He frowned vaguely at Ringer, as if trying to come to some kind of decision.

"About what?" He wasn't exactly keen on showing up to an ambush or something.

"A group of women will come to a consensus of some kind. I'll rephrase. What do the Fae want and what do you, as an individual, care about?" Ringer watched him with rapt attention, both wanting answers by whatever means necessary while desiring for him to stay. It was hard for her to ever put social attachments or graces above her need to satiate her curiosities.

"I want to talk to the fox about what he did and why," she said carefully. As far as she was concerned, the fox's act of saving her was still something personal and which she wished to understand. Though admitting the event to Heiji, there were questions unanswered there that only the fox could answer.

Well. That wasn't really rephrasing the question, that was just adding another question onto the existing question, which still didn't really help things because the scope of the original question was so broad as to make the answer meaningless. So basically, this was like talking to Derek. "I want to do the right thing. I can't speak on behalf of the fae, like I said. But the reason they're here right now is they got a problem with Redbright's policies."

"All he did was show up and meddle in that faceoff of yours, right? Seems like the why's pretty clear to me -- because you were there and the alternative was watching that cat make an end of you. I can ask him, but I dunno if he'd show or not."

Especially since Heiji liked being able to walk around relatively incognito. Maintaining separate identities was going to be a major pain if he made a habit of interacting with people as both. A few people knew him in either appearance, of course, but those were individuals he felt he could trust -- and Ringer could not be counted among that number.

Maera's in and out of cafes all the time during the work week. It's not that caffeine is a must for her or anything, but she does like having something to sip on while she's running errands.

When waiting for her order to come up, she can't help but notice the girl sitting by herself with a book - and the scratches on her arm. Before she can stop to think, Maera blurts out, "wow, that looks awful. Are you okay?"

It takes Ringer a second to realize the woman is talking to her. Once she does, she lowers her book, glances down at herself to realize what's visible, and then looks to the source of the inquiry. Although she never really smiles, her expression is light, clearly not upset by the interruption. "I am, thank you. I had an unfortunate run-in with an angry animal. It's healing."

She sets her book aside and takes a casual sip of her tea, hoping that the vague explanation will suffice for what she assumes is a human. Those familiar with Grimalkin might recognize his handiwork in the scratches. Ringer hoped that leaving them visible would draw less attention and concern than an enormous bandage, but she's not entirely sure her logic holds true.

Maera's been in the Court too long not to recognize when Grimalkin has gotten his claws into someone. It takes a few moments, but her lips quirk up when she realizes what exactly has happened here. "Angry animal is a good way to describe him. I've run into him once or twice before. It doesn't often end well when you do." It's not the most truthful way of saying that she works for Mab on occasion, but it's not an outright lie.

Just like that, the conversation jumps from amicable humans to something supernatural. Ringer gestures to the seat across from her, a silent invitation to the woman to join her. Anyone who knows what did this to her might know other things of value as well. Including if there's a way to call off the stupid cat.

"I took his claws. He took my bullets. He still attacks me sometimes." It's more than she generally likes to admit to a stranger, but beggars can't be choosers and Ringer needs more information - and allies. "What are you?"

"It's politer to ask 'who' first, dear, don't you think?" Maera says, leaning her cheek on her palm with a smile. "I'm Maera Perkins. Kinda human, kinda fairy. Pleased to meet you."

"More polite, less important," she counters. Ringer typically aims to remember her manners, but recent events have her frazzled and the fae have only proven again how sadistic and malicious they can be in her mind. Her expression remains even with Maera, trying very hard to judge her as an individual rather than stereotype her as part of the genocidal race. "My name is Ringer. I'm a human who's tired of humans dying for the others' enjoyment or as collateral damage."

The playful tone to Maera's expression leaves completely at Ringer's words. "That's something I can stand behind." Because for all that she's an exemplary member of the Unseelie Court, it doesn't mean that she approves of the way some fae in her Court treat humans. Especially considering who her father was. "So what are you doing about it?"

She stares. The woman seems sincere in her claims. While Ringer's smart enough to know that not every fae will be like those she watched in Oxford, it's always difficult to know who might be telling the truth versus who might be playing along only to lead her into a trap of some kind. Her ability to trust has never been good, but it definitely got worse when she discovered the existence of the supernatural world.

"Everything I can," she replies carefully, intentionally vague. "What are you?"

"Keeping things in balance." It's the broadest way she can put her situation. She knows the members of the Courts have spies everywhere, and she isn't about to let anyone know too much. "My opinions put me in a delicate position. There are things I'm not willing to give up to push this particular agenda. I think you might want to consider making your own list like that - and adding your health and safety to it."

"I don't want to die," Ringer admits easily. "But I can't include my safety when I'm fighting creatures vastly stronger and faster than I am with skills I don't have. I'm learning to be better. That's worth the risk for me. What situation are you in that makes your opinions a delicate matter?"

As polite as she can be, the hunter doesn't have quite as much tact when there are things she wants to know. Or, perhaps, she prioritizes her desire for information more highly over her desire to fit in with social graces.

"That's funny. You sure seem to be going for it. I'd suggest learning to be better before taking risks, but that's just me." Scars aren't a great look, after all. "I'd also suggest learning that there are eyes and ears everywhere. Even in a cute little coffeeshop meant for infant mortals with no conception of our world." Which... isn't as polite as it should've been, but it's laughable to think that Maera would say more about her situation than she already has.

“Whoa, dark stuff,” comes a casual remark as Stiles approaches her table at the café. He nods his head in the direction of her book, expression amiable and open. “I saw the movie. It was tough to watch. Hey Ringer.”

There’s a coffee in his hand, hot steam rising from the lid.

“It’s, uh, Stiles? We met a few weeks ago. Not sure if you remember.”

Wouldn’t be the first time a girl has forgotten him…

Ringer looks up at the source of the remark, half poised to tell off some asshole hipster who feels like it's his obligation to pass judgment on the literary choices of others. She's pleasantly surprised to instead find someone she's met before and she stands as a form of greeting, closing the book and setting it aside.

"I remember," she replies with a vaguely sly tone, her expression light. It's not exactly normal to run into an American kid running around at night with a hockey stick or lacrosse or whatever it was. The girl gestures to the other seat before returning to her own. "Do you have time to sit for awhile? I don't want to keep you."

Stiles, for his part, hasn't looked too closely at the details of their last encounter. She had probably been clubbing in the area or something. That's what normal teenagers do, right? He's pretty sure the UK is big on clubs. At least, compared to a place like Beacon Hills.

"Yeah, s-sure."

Pleasantly surprised himself by the offer, he slides into the seat across from her. Then, because he's an awkward boy who gets clumsy around members of the opposite sex, he promptly takes a swig of his burning hot coffee. It goes about as well as expected.

"Wh-what do you think?" he asks, coughing as his tongue withers and dies in his mouth. "About the book?"

Ringer's expression briefly flashes with concern at his coughing. She figures the best kindness she can give him is to ignore the accidental misstep and not draw needless attention to it. She can only hope it isn't mistaken for apathy or callousness. Social situations are stupidly difficult to navigate and those with a natural grace for them have always drawn some level of admiration from her.

"I like it. McCarthy has a distinct writing style that adds a level of disconnect appropriate to the setting. The twists as the story unravels are poignant and the scene with the people in the cellar is.." She stops herself. It's not much, but it's more than Ringer normally rambles about something so trivial and she feels vaguely uncomfortable expressing her passions to anyone. "Sorry. I really enjoy his work. You've read it?"

Edited 2015-07-27 04:05 (UTC)

Running his burnt tongue along the inside of his mouth, Stiles listens attentively to her answer. Because he knows little of the young woman beyond her name, he can't appreciate how rare such a passionate response from her is. He is curious though, both by the book and her interest in it. The movie had left him in a particularly upset state of mind, so he thinks he can understand.

"Uh, no. I should though. Sounds like it's worth the read." Even if he prefers film to literary story-telling. "And don't apologize! Something like this, it has an impact. After I watched the movie, I had to go for a long drive around the county to clear my head. It was...pretty harrowing."

"It is," she agrees, thinking about it. Ringer glances down to the simple cover as she thinks of how to elaborate. It's kind of weird talking in depth about a book outside of an academic setting. The change is refreshing and a pleasant and easier departure from the usual smalltalk people attempt to engage in that leaves her stilted. "It preys on your humanity. There's something hyper realistic about the despair of their condition. The response is visceral."

She crosses her arms lightly, resting them on the table's edge. Even the memory of certain scenes, as she sits with Stiles in the cafe, makes her vaguely anxious. Some part of the back of her mind wonders if his similar feelings is evidence that he's human too, or if he might be something else. Which, in turn, leads to wondering if she'll ever not wonder about every person she meets again.

The fingers of his dominant hand tighten reflexively around the coffee, her words touching something deeply buried within him. Though the novel’s plot remains the focus of their discussion, he can’t help but think on the Underground, on the events back in Beacon Hills. He wonders when such things stop eliciting a visceral response, when the state of affairs only evokes a sense of weary, jaded cynicism. Skin crawling, he is reminded of Cooper and briefly touches the side of his neck where fangs had pressed teasingly. Maybe he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

“You watch a lot of horror flicks, Ringer?” he asks, seemingly a non sequitur. Pushing ahead, Stiles continues speaking. “Most of them are pretty campy, and it’s not even intentional. But this—” And he reaches over to gently tap her book. “—the way it depicts mankind…how monstrous we can be. That scares me. Because it’s real. Really real.”

Stiles isn’t referring to the supernatural, either.

Ringer notices the fingers on his neck, immediately wondering at the touch and then dismissing it as quickly, silently chastising herself for her own paranoia. Her personality is one of default jaded cynicism and the tragedy she endured back in Oxford was only motivation for her inevitable conflict with the supernatural. It left its mark in her every thought and action, but it doesn't give her nightmares or force a knot into her stomach any longer.

"Humanity is no guarantee of being humane," she agrees. An alcoholic father taught her as much from a young age. Ringer's eyes fall to Stiles' hand on her book and she resists the urge to reach out and touch him. To do so would feel more like seeking her own comfort than what she might offer him. After a beat, her eyes rise to meet his again, wondering what it is that lies beneath his fear. "Do you think you're a monster?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

would you promise to be true [OPEN]

she's been livin' on the highest shelf [CLOSED TO FAOLAN]

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I GOT HOME EARLY AND I LOVE YOUR TAGS I'M SORRY

HEEEE NOT A PROBLEM AT ALL

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TEA AT A CAFE

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sorry, didn't see notif

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TEA AT A CAFE

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TEA AT A CAFE

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